


but tony had an iron grip

by A_Paradox



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Oop, Pain, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Deserves Better, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Survivor Guilt, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Dies, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark-centric, i couldn't help myself :(
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23471311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Paradox/pseuds/A_Paradox
Summary: Tony Stark was working on a new project when FRIDAY interrupts him with disturbing news.A certain teenager was sitting dangerously close to the edge of a skyscraper.And Tony only knew one teenager.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 37
Kudos: 162





	but tony had an iron grip

**Author's Note:**

> ahh. is it shocking that i got this idea in august and i only finished it now? 
> 
> this deals with some heavy shit, so obviously a trigger warning (the tags) for those who need it. 
> 
> sorry in advance! love y'all. :)

There was a distinct echo of a notification that sharply pulled Tony Stark away from his deep concentration. 

And a groan of annoyance that immediately followed.

“Seriously, FRI? This better be important,” Tony scowled, dragging his cramped hands up to massage the bridge of his nose. It would take him another hour just to achieve the same hum of focus. 

The AI wasn’t fazed, however.

“Boss, remember that protocol you installed that required me to alert you of any suspicious activity?”

“That’s awfully vague.” He sighed, beginning to twirl the nearby wrench he had been using as a means to occupy his still fidgeting hands. “Get on with it,” 

“I was scouring the cameras and happened across a particularly distressed individual perched on a skyscraper. A teenager to be precise.”

Tony blinked, putting down the wrench he had been toying with. He proceeded to pull up a myriad of holographic screens, settling into a methodical pattern of swiping through them with a growing sense of urgency. His eyes darted from screen to screen as a murmur of worry settled in his mind, gnawing, whispering possibilities he hoped were not the case. 

He only knew one teenager. 

“It’s not anybody we know, though, right?” 

It was a stupid question, but he had to interrupt the storm of thoughts. He continued to violently swipe through the hundreds of folders, files, and data he had amassed over the years, the scrolling exponentially quickening as Tony felt a deep and desperate fear surface. FRIDAY wouldn’t have alerted him for any random individual. 

“I would not have informed you if I didn’t consider it to be important,” the AI replied almost immediately, confirming his thoughts, just as Tony found himself staring at a highly detailed and sophisticated map of Manhattan, a single red spider icon indeed on one of taller midtown buildings. 

His heart promptly dropped, and what was an annoying murmur became a frightening scream.

“Shit.” 

* * *

The teenager wasn’t hard to spot, his body a black silhouette against the backdrop of bright lights in a city that never quite dimmed. 

“You wanna sit a bit farther from the very there, buddy?” Tony found himself instantly joking, hoping to ease the tension immediately felt, but he quickly sobered when the kid didn’t reply.

In fact, Peter hadn’t flinched or turned at all, probably having heard Tony from a mile or three away. Still, it wasn’t a good sign—the kid always plays along, turns, does _something_.

He never does nothing.

“Ki-?”

“I’m not gonna jump, Mr. Stark,” Peter bitterly answered, his tone uncharacteristically vacant and dry. The forlorn boy kept his gaze set forward, eyes glazed and focus empty, a seemingly steady though distracted watch on the passing cars that were stupid enough to find themselves in the city, or on the blinding lights of the surrounding New York skyline. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” the engineer quickly supplied, chewing his lip as millions of panic induced prayers circled his mind in rushed electron-like orbits. Get Peter away get Peter away get Peter away get

No reply.

The kid had ignored his comment, albeit shitty comment, keeping his glazed stare focused on one point somewhere toward Central Park. The slack expression and overall unresponsiveness was tearing away at Tony as his mind raced to produce a solution. 

Because that’s what Tony does; he fixes things. 

“Come closer to me,” Tony tried again, an urgent desperation in the cadence of his voice. 

And yet, once again, silence persisted, God, what was he supposed to do? How is he going to fi-

There was a change. Slowly, Peter had drawn his unfocused eyes away from “straight ahead”, instead now staring at his slightly trembling hands that were clutching his thighs, leaving sharp, crescent shaped indents beneath the denim. Tony stepped closer, kneeling, his hand hovering and then settling over one of Peter’s hands, lifting it just gently and squeezing.

“Why are you sitting on a roof at three in the morning, kid?” 

“I’m not gonna jump,” Peter repeated, his voice laced with defined frustration. “I’m not gonna let life win,”

“Life wi-?”

“But sometimes I just need a break. To just decompose, if you will. To reevaluate. To think.” Peter took in a sharp breath. “I don’t know.” 

The engineer hummed, cautiously seating himself next to the morose teenager on the edge, careful to not scare him away or drive him away or cause him to jump or or or— 

He needs to get the kid to safety. Somehow. Tony sighed.

A comfortable silence filled the night air as the two sat peacefully side by side. The echo of a consistent heartbeat provided a steady white noise against the constant hum of New York City, proof, or Tony, that Peter was alive. And Tony could work with that. 

Tony could work with alive. He can fix this; he can’t fix death. But Peter was alive, breathing, albeit shakily. But consistently. Each breath, in and out, inhale and exhale, a sheer cloud in a brisk night. Proof of life. Tony’s hand, having since released Peter’s and hovered awkwardly, now moved to be rested over Peter’s thigh, grasping. The kid wasn’t cold; wasn’t gone. Proof of life. He could work with that.

He wasn’t quite sure what had the kid so unlike himself—so morose and quiet. 

Peter was the kid who was constantly stuttering and rambling because his poor mouth couldn’t keep up with his ideas and thoughts that ran at several miles per hour. Peter was the kid who got overly excited when Tony let him work on the suits, despite having done it hundreds of times already. Peter was the kid who always kept his head high and attitude positive, while Tony was on his third cup of coffee and completely done with the world.

Peter was the kid who somehow thawed Tony’s heart. 

God, how was he going to fix _this_? 

.

.

.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s small, almost delicate, voice interrupted the quiet. Timid and fragile, it seemed to hang in the air, dripping of unease and of a broken resolve that a kid shouldn’t have.

Tony hummed once more, gently, shifting his gaze toward the boy who was still staring slightly downwards. Even with Peter’s hidden face, Tony could immediately see the shattered hope lingering behind a muted expression. He saw tears; tears slowly pooling, proliferating, despite the kid’s desperate attempt to blink them away. His hands were still clutching, grasping, at his thighs, at his palms, at his arms—crescents lining every possible surface within Peter’s violent grasp, despite Tony’s attempt to calm the kid.

“Wy d li he me?” 

“What..?” 

“Why does life hate me?”

A single tear successfully slid down Peter’s face, opening the burdened dam to a flood of thick tears, carving out a path on the boy’s cheeks and leaving behind a delicate trail lacing the increasingly reddening face. The kid was now biting his lip, which was trembling, quite harshly, as if to somehow keep his cracking exterior at bay—

—it wasn’t working.

“Life doesn’t hate you, Peter,” Tony frowned. He wanted to comfort, to console, to help, the distraught teenager, but he didn’t even know where to start.

“But it does! It takes and it takes and it takes—it took my parents, i-it took Uncle Ben,” the boy suddenly wailed, turning to Tony as tears more freely poured down his face in undulating waves. His sobs echoed throughout the otherwise quieted night and his shoulders heaved with every painful inhale. A violent crescendo of hiccups and gasps punctuated the desperate paroxysm—all the kid could do was hopelessly clutch at his face and hair as his body was wracked with grief. 

Tony sat hesitantly, shocked and ridden speechless. A silence had once again overcome the atmosphere from the engineer’s loss of words and the kid’s disturbing hollowing out. From the perturbed fog that settled over Tony’s usually bustling mind. From the sudden outburst completely uncharacteristic of the usually ebullient and cheerful kid. 

All he could do was stare back at the heartbroken teenager now quietly sobbing to himself.

Of course his kid would be distressed—why hadn’t he considered that sooner? He could’ve helped from the beginning, he saw the kid’s files, he knew the kid’s circumstances—he could’ve _helped_ , he _has_ to _help_. 

“Pet-”

“I get bullied by Flash, as if life didn’t shit on me enough— _F_ _ucking Parker Luck_ ,” Peter hissed, despair replaced by a sudden anger and unadulterated self-shame. His tears waned into a slow and steady trickle, and his gasps had eased and gradually disappeared as Peter took a deep breath. The vent was seemingly over, and Peter had visibly deflated from the onslaught of tears.

And yet there brewed an anger, a fuming self-hatred, that threw Tony completely off guard.

“—Bullied?” The engineer repeated, his eyebrows furrowed as he processed the gravity of his kid’s words. 

Perhaps at the wrong moment, perhaps that’s why he was ignored. Perhaps that’s why another tense silence enveloped the air between the fuming teenager and the equally fuming engineer. 

A minute. 

  
  


A minute became 5 minutes.

  
  


5 minutes painstakingly became 10 minutes. 

  
  


10 minutes of an uncomfortable silence. 

A sharp inhale echoed. Tony immediately shifted his eyes back to Peter, who only looked downwards once again. An exacerbated tremor had overcome the boy’s body, simultaneously growing and easing in magnitude, and Peter tried to contain it, despite his once more pooling tears. Once again, his kid was unraveling. 

But it was a different pain that wracked Peter. It tore away at his happiness, leaving nothing but guilt and misery in its wake. It settled uncomfortably and heavy at the bottom of the heart, swallowing any positive emotion, leaving only a numbness that clouded every thought and perspective. It turned every color to gray and every moment to meaningless—this wasn’t the desperation or the guilt or the anger from before.

It was different.

.

.

. 

“It took away Aunt May,” a small, defenseless, broken whisper followed a crumbling of Peter’s fragile facade. It was painstakingly clear and sharp, yet nonetheless minute.

Tony had no words. 

Peter then dragged his hands up to his eyes, furiously swiping away the onslaught of thick tears once again with clenched fists, white knuckles. The light tremor that had settled in the teenager off and on had overcome his body with a renewed and awfully violent vigor. Sharp heaves cut through the delicate air, knife-like and jarring. 

The calmness that had swept through the kid before was instantly dissipated with but a single confession. 

He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t guilty, he wasn’t _sad_. He was in despair and absolute anguish—he could hold the heartbreak no longer and he crumbled on the edge in a disheveled heap as his grief poured out in waves of uncontrollable tears; as gut-wrenching sobs tore through his chest; as his mourning completely overcame his soul.

Peter was panicking.

His kid was panicking and Tony had no words.

“It took…” Tony whispered, voice stolen and dripping with hesitance, “I’m sorry, Peter,” he choked out as he gripped the boy’s shaking shoulder in an attempt to quell the violent quivering and pull his kid into a hug.

_His kid_.

And Tony wasn't keen on hugs. But _his kid_ needed one. Needed _him_.

Another silence, only this time it was periodically punctuated with the most heartbreaking and delicate wails escaping from a clasped mouth. Each shaky hiccup, each sharp inhale, each wet sputter tore at the engineer’s heart just as life had torn at the kid’s.

What was he going to do—he can't send Peter to CPS and its failing system designed to break each unfortunate child, just for the sake of more government money. He can't let him deal with this shit alone either. _God, the poor kid has it rough._

Would he come with him then? He didn’t mind having Peter around, and he certainly wouldn’t mind having the kid be a permanent resident—a permanent member of his small family, He’d be...happy, actually. More than glad, even, but he’d never admit that to anyone. Except to maybe Peter.

Would the kid want to though? He’d have to adopt the kid, or at the very least take legal guardianship and then adopt—shit. Pepper would kill him. Or, well, she’d understand the pro-

“Maybe I should jump.”

Tony’s train of thought came to a screeching sharp stop.

“Peter, wait—” Tony’s head whipped to face his kid, unsure as to how to proceed. He bit his tongue, looking at the kid with a new pressing sense of overwhelming fear but also a (paternal?) drive to protect, He reached his hand cautiously forward, lingering doubt fighting with urging desperation in his intent to embrace the teenager. 

But Peter only hastily flinched away.

And he stood up, tears still freely pouring down his face, though sans any attempt to furiously wipe them away or hide them like before. Pooling and falling and dripping onto clothing and concrete and cars below. 

The boy stepped ever closer to the edge. 

And now Tony panicked, quickly gripping onto the teetering boy’s arm with the tightest hold he can manage, to prevent his kid from taking even a single step. 

One step is all it would take for Tony’s life to shatter. One step is all it would take for his kid to plummet to his death way before his time. One step is all it would take for his kid to breathe his last breath and speak his last word and utter his last goodbye. One step is all it would take for Tony to lose his kid. His everything.

His kid.

“Tony, let me _go,_ ” Peter pleaded and tugged, but Tony had an iron grip. 

“Tony, _please_ ,” 

But Tony kept an iron grip.

“ _Please_ ,” Peter wretchedly choked out, “I can’t. _Tony_. Just let me _fall_ ,” 

Tugging, pulling, wrenching toward the fall, toward the end. 

But Tony kept an iron grip.

And he gently guided Peter’s chin up, clasping his kid’s cheek as he locked his gaze onto the boy’s tearful and empty eyes.

“No, Peter. Not gonna happen. I’m never letting you go—I’d never let that happen,” the engineer whispered. 

And Peter’s tremor remained unwaning. His tears remained frequent and heavy. His sobs remained pronounced and loud. 

“Life won’t take me away from you—you’re stuck with me,”

A beat.

“And I won’t let life take you away from me.”

And Peter crumbled, letting out a wail of pure despair, easing and then falling into Tony’s grip, the engineer quickly stepping back to welcome _his kid_ into his arms and far from the edge. The teenager, engulfed in the hug, continued to sob. But it was a different release of emotions.

It meant things would get better. 

The two stood, embraced, on the quiet Manhattan rooftop.

“We’ll figure it out,”

.

.

.

“I’m not leaving you.”

* * *

Peter would never forget that night. 

But in the end, life took Tony Stark as well.

**Author's Note:**

> ahh, i'm sorry. i was going to do without the "bad" ending but...i'm gonna have an alternative ending in the next chapter! (some day).
> 
> it'll be fluffy and nice, and tony won't be dead! 
> 
> again, i wrote this in august initially and i still wasn't over endgame so. :(
> 
> i love y'all!


End file.
